It was well past midnight when the Deans looked in on their sleeping guest before retiring themselves. There was no additional discussion of Martha's bones. Dean knew he was only prolonging the chore of relating their failure. Perhaps if they learned further details from Martha in the morning that would help. However, the bones, their identity, Fitzgerald's present whereabouts, and all other unrelated matters paled in the joy of Martha's return. The resolution of that sticky problem produced a solid, albeit abbreviated, night's sleep, surprisingly unfettered by dreams starring such names as Fitzgerald, Larkin, and Dawkins in imagined roles and sinister locations.

The Deans rose at their usual early hour. A quick telephone call to Jake Weller produced no further word on whether or not Fitzgerald had reported as summoned to Denver. Rumors still abounded concerning Billy's death. Someone was actively working on Seymour Fitzgerald. Dean had his guess as to the culprit.

It was near ten o'clock the next morning when Martha awoke in a festive mood with the appetite of a hibernating bear. There was no doubt that she appreciated Cynthia's cooking far more than the bus stop steam lines of the last few days. Most of the lodgers were about their daily activities, with Fred off to the post office, Maria doing her duties with her usual exuberance, and the Deans hovering close by. Maria crushed Martha in her happy embrace, although what she'd perceived of the young girl's absence through the veil of her linguistic limitations was anyone's guess. Between bites, Martha regaled the few late rising guests that lingered around the dining room with stories of her adventure and the bus window sights she'd visited. The audience included the Dawkinses, still in residence after an airplane mechanical problem delayed them yet another day. For the first time they seemed interested in something besides themselves. Added to the group were various newcomers, ignorant until now of the young girl's recent odyssey. Brandon Westlake, the only other guest of long standing, was off on an early morning photo shoot but an unexpected prodigal returned to Bird Song just as the second batch of cinnamon rolls rolled out of the oven. Pumpkin Green strolled into the inn, arm in arm with Billy Langstrom's female friend, Melissa. He was, as Jake Weller reported, freshly barbered and shaven. His ubiquitous grocery cart was nowhere in sight.

"Sorry about the quick exit last time," he said with no more concern than if he'd eaten the last breakfast roll-which he usually did. After greeting the group with a hearty wave, he proudly handed a surprised Cynthia Dean a wad of bills. "I was kind of embarrassed about the money not coming in the mail like I said. It finally got here." Then he pushed his shy pregnant companion forward a step. "This is Melissa. We're going together." Then, with a hint of pride added, "I'm going to stick around Ouray and give Mrs. Langstrom a hand. I'm staying at her place. Maybe we'll settle here." He then sat at the table, helping himself and his companion to the assorted pastries.




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